A Case of Love
by Schattengestalt
Summary: John confesses his love to Sherlock, but his friend's reaction isn't what he has hoped for and leaves him more confused than hopeful. Johnlock. Trans*lock.
1. A Surprise awaits

**Author Notes** : It's been a while, since I last posted anything, but the last few weeks have been rather busy - as usual - but I hope that this story makes up for my long silence. This is just the first chapter and I will post the other two chapters, in the upcoming weeks. :)

Let me know what you think of the chapter. :)

 **A Surprise awaits**

The house wasn't what John had expected at all. When Sherlock had invited him to his parent's house for the birthday of his father, John had imagined some kind of mansion. A huge building with countless rooms, cold and impersonal, surrounded by daunting hedges or a dark forest. The reality felt anticlimactic in comparison. John rubbed his eyes for the numerous times - maybe he had fallen asleep in the car - as he slung his travel back over his good shoulder and followed Sherlock to the front door of the... cottage. Yes, it was nothing more than a cottage. A nice little and very welcoming cottage, which John loved on sight, but he couldn't wrap his head around the fact that Sherlock's parents lived here. And if that was impossible, it became completely surreal, when he tried to picture Sherlock and Mycroft as children in the country. Of course, Sherlock still enjoyed running around in the fresh air and it wasn't so hard to picture him climbing on trees and exploring fields, but... Sherlock just didn't appear like he had grown up this way. He behaved so posh, almost snobbish on occasions, that John had never imagined him growing up in such an _average_ environment. And when he thought about it like this, then Mycroft became an even bigger mystery than John had at first thought. Still, maybe, their parents weren't as average as the outward experience of their home led to believe.

"Sherlock," John started as his friend put down his own bag to search his coat pockets for something - either the latchkey or his mobile. John didn't know anything about Sherlock's parents and he hadn't asked on the car ride from London, because... it had been awkward. Everything between them was awkward, since...

"Sherlock! Why are you standing outside?" John stared at the middle-aged woman, who had thrown open the front door and was enfolding his friend in a bone-crushing hug, while scolding him for his lateness at the same time. No doubt, this woman had to be Sherlock's mother, although she didn't fit together with the picture John had created of her in his mind. She neither wore a silk dress and high heels nor was she cold and aloof. No, she was warm and welcoming, just like Mrs. Hudson and... she had Sherlock's piercing gaze and his high cheekbones, John realised when she let go of her son and turned towards him. "Mrs. Holmes, it's a pleasure to..."

"Ah, none of these stupid formalities, my dear." Mrs. Holmes bypassed John's outstretched hand and hugged him as well. "You can call me Violet or Mum - my boys prefer Mummy - but none of this Mrs.' nonsense."

"Alright Mrs... Er, Violet," John stuttered, after she had released him and earned a warm smile. So much for snobbish and cold. If anything, Mrs. Holmes... No, Violet - he should call her by her name in his head, if he didn't want to slip - was even more affectionate than John's own mother and she had already been a very friendly woman. Strange, that her sons were - in comparison - so closed off. Maybe, their father wasn't as warm as his wife.

Before John got the chance to follow this train of thought, Violet ushered them inside - a hand on Sherlock's back and a smile on her face - and into the living-room. A fire was crackling in the fireplace and drinks were placed on a small table in the middle of the room, which was surrounded by comfortable - and worn looking - armchairs, which John took a liking to right away. No wonder that Sherlock loved 221B so much, John mused with a smile as he glanced at the outdated wallpaper and noted the cluttered bookshelf in one corner of the room. Only the skulls and bullet holes in the wall were missing, but otherwise the living-room of Sherlock's parent's home was very similar to their own one.

"Here, my dear, try the punch. Scott made it after an old recipe of his grandfather." John accepted the glass and was barely able to express his gratitude, before Violet turned her attention back on Sherlock. "Sit down, young man. You make me crazy, when you stand around like a stranger in your own home. And take off your coat and... No, give it to me. You'll only scatter your things around the house. Drink a glass of punch and I'll see where your father and Mycroft are." John couldn't hold back a chuckle, when he watched Violet marching from the room, with Sherlock's coat over her arm and a determined expression on her face. At least, that solved the puzzle where Sherlock learned to speak so fast without taking a breath in between words.

"Mycroft is in his room and father is outside, checking on the moles as usual. If she hadn't taken my coat, I could have told her as much," Sherlock muttered to himself, but there was no real heat behind his words, as he helped himself to a glass of punch and sat down in one of the armchairs. John merely arched an eyebrow at Sherlock's compliance of his mother's orders and followed his example as he sat down in the armchair opposite his friend - leaving two armchairs on his left side and one armchair on his right free between Sherlock and himself.

"Your mother is really nice," John remarked and took a sip from his glass, only to have his eyes widen in awe. "Wow, the punch is delicious." It was the first time in the last week, that John saw a real smile on Sherlock's face, when he met his gaze. Not his polite smile, which he used to gain information from witnesses and which only turned his lips upwards but left his eyes untouched. No, this one transformed Sherlock's whole face, as the lines around his eyes crinkled and his pupils widened in real joy. Maybe, it hadn't been such a bad idea to accompany Sherlock to his parents after all, John mused as he took another sip of his - absolutely fantastic - punch. If nothing else, it was good to see Sherlock smiling once more.

"My Dad used to give us a glass of punch, whenever he deemed it necessary to put the recipe to good use - which usually was for family celebrations - although most people deemed us too young to try alcohol. Mummy was furious with him, when she found out why..."

"You had retched on the new carpet and spoiled the whole birthday party, just because you snatched another glass of punch from one of the guests, brother dear. Good afternoon, John." Mycroft nodded at him politely, but John could barely stop himself from snarling at the elder Holmes' brother as he watched how Sherlock's face became blank once more. His friend rarely told John anything about his childhood or his family and of course, Mycroft had to spoil the one time he did.

"At least, I didn't eat half the birthday cake, so that Mummy had to bake another one, instead of taking the time to go to the coiffeur as she had planned." Mycroft merely rolled his eyes at Sherlock's remark and sat down on John's left side, leaving one chair between his brother and himself. "I wasn't the one, who sat fire to my hair on Christmas, just because..."

"Boys, stop that!" Violet carried a tray with sandwiches and slices of cake into the room and glared at her sons, which shut up at once - Mycroft with a cold nod and Sherlock with a pout. John made a note to ask her how she was able to work such a miracle. It would come in handy, when John wanted to watch the next episode of _Doctor Who_ in peace.

"And you must be Doctor Watson." John jumped at the voice next to his seat and then scrambled to his feet to extend his hand to the man, who had to be Sherlock's father. "John, please," he offered and nodded to Violet to include her in the offer, although he doubted that she would call him anything else.

"Scott," Sherlock's father smiled openly at him and shook John's hand, his eyes crinkling pleasantly. "I can't even start to tell you how happy I'm that you two were able to make it. Violet and I wanted to get to know you, ever since Sherlock told us about you, but you know how he is." It wasn't a question and therefore, John merely hummed as Scott gave his hand one final squeeze and then sat down in the armchair next to Mycroft, which put Violet between John and Sherlock. Before John was able to wonder if that was bad or good, she raised her glass and toasted to her husband. "To you, Darling, and to the next seventy years."

Neither Mycroft nor Sherlock pointed out to their mother that it was impossible for a human to live for 140 years as they all drank to the health of Scott Holmes. Either they feared the wrath of their mother or they didn't want to think about a world without their father. Judging from Sherlock's happy expression, it was the latter, although John wasn't able to tell if the same applied to Mycroft, as his expression was a polite mask as always.

John shrugged inwardly - he didn't care about Mycroft beyond the fact that he was Sherlock's brother - and accepted a sandwich from Violet, who padded his arm with a smile. "It's nice to have an additional guest." She squeezed John's shoulder and Scott nodded at her words. "Yes, it's a rather small round with only the four of us. Don't get me wrong, John," Scott winked at him. "I adore Violet and my sons, but sometimes it's nice to have someone else in the house. I still remember the parties, we housed at every birthday, when Sherlock was still a child. A shame that our extended family doesn't accept our invitations anymore."

"It's not my fault!"

John's eyes snapped to Sherlock, who had managed to fit his whole body in the armchair - as usual - and had his arms slung around his legs with his glass balanced on one boney knee. A year ago, John would have missed the tension in Sherlock's body and how he grinded his teeth as he fixed the sandwiches with a glare or if he had noticed it, he would have dismissed it as misplaced aggression. As it was, John knew his friend well enough to recognize, when Sherlock acted defensive and he just wondered what had happened to cause such a reaction. It had probably something to do with their extended family and why they didn't visit Scott and Violet anymore, but John was at a loss as to what could have happened. God only knew in how many ways Sherlock could insult people and it was likely that he had disclosed an affair or an addiction of a cousin, which had led to an estrangement of the family. Still to hold a grudge after so many years was rather juvenile.

"Of course, it's not your fault, Darling." John glanced to his right and caught a glimpse of Violet ruffling her son's dark curls. "We never blamed you for it." No one - not even Mycroft - disagreed with her statement and Sherlock's posture relaxed and he even helped himself to a slice of cake, while he smiled at his mother.

Strange, John mused quietly and by that he didn't mean that Sherlock's close family obviously supported him in whatever had happened, but... that something huge had happened in Sherlock's past and John didn't know about it. The thought dug a cold hole in the pit of John's stomach - even as he accepted another glass of punch - as it reminded him of _the incident_ a week ago... and Sherlock's unexplainable behavior.

 _"You could do the shopping once in a while, you know." John muttered to himself, when he put the shopping bags on the floor in the kitchen and opened the fridge and then... groaned. When he had left in the morning, there had only been a box with fingers on the top shelf, but they had gotten company in the form of a right leg, a left arm and toes, now._

 _"Sherlock!"_

 _"What is it now?" His friend appeared in the kitchen doorway and glared at John, before he glanced at the opened fridge and arched an eyebrow. "There is still a free shelf left. I did without the intensities, because I knew that you would insist on wasting storage room for something edible."_

 _John didn't know if he should scream or laugh at Sherlock's honest bewilderment. His friend didn't fill the fridge with body parts, because he wanted to annoy John, but rather because he didn't see anything wrong with it. Therefore, it was a sincere - if not even loving - gesture from Sherlock to keep one part of the fridge clean - or at least free - for the groceries. Actually, it would have been adorable, if it wasn't for the steaks, eggs and other perishable products he had bought at Tesco. John sighed quietly and then decided to stay calm, if only to irritate Sherlock, who was probably preparing for their usual argument already. "Next time, keep the highest shelf free of any body parts and put them into containers, so that they don't contaminate the other goods."_

 _"Fine." Sherlock rolled his eyes and returned to the living-room, without sparing John another glance, who tried to figure out how to best store the groceries, without putting them on top of a severed arm. In the end, John only put the milk in the fridge and brought the cheese and eggs to Mrs. Hudson, who handed him a recipe for steaks with steamed vegetables and a bottle of red wine, after John had disclosed what had happened to their fridge._

 _"Dinner will be ready in twenty," John called to his friend, who laid in his thinking pose on the couch and merely responded with a huff. John rolled his eyes and opened the wine, while the vegetables steamed in the pot. Sometimes, Sherlock's mannerism was irritating, even after sharing a flat with him for a year. Still, most of the time, John found it adorable, how his friend would huff and grumble about offered food, but inhale the contents on his plate faster than a starving soldier. Of course, not everything Sherlock did was adorable - far from it - but then, it was brilliant, fascinating or utterly mad and John just loved it. Loved_ him.

 _He didn't halt in his preparations as the thought stroke him for the numerous time and instead arranged their dinner on the table - he had cooked spaghetti to go with the steaks and vegetables - and hummed to himself. The first time, John had realised that he loved Sherlock, it had been a small shock, until it had become yet just another part of John and there was no way that he would ever_ not _love Sherlock. Body parts and dangerous experiments be damned, they wouldn't drive John away, because they were just as much a part of his friend as his brilliant deductions and his fabulous looks. Speaking of looks... John almost dropped the pan, when Sherlock emerged in the kitchen doorway and took his usual chair, after pouring them both a glass of wine. Sherlock always looked gorgeous, but with his ruffled hair - he had spent the better part of the day lying on the couch - and in his loose pajamas and dressing gown, with a relaxed smile on his face, he was the epitome of beauty to John._

 _"Are you going to stand there all evening and wait until the steaks jump onto the plates on their own? Because, I assure you, they won't." Sherlock's words were accompanied by a wink and a grin and John merely rolled his eyes, before putting a steak on each plate and sitting down opposite his friend._

 _"Cheers to you, too," John toasted Sherlock with his glass and then they ate in compatible silence. It would have turned out to be a nice, peaceful evening, if John hadn't looked up, when Sherlock had taken a sip of his wine and closed his eyes in utter bliss. Because somehow, the sight deactivated every defense mechanism John had put around his feelings for Sherlock and his mouth put them into words, without John's doing. "I love you."_

 _Sherlock sputtered and then choked on his wine. "What... you...?"_

 _The look of utter shock on his friend's face would have been hilarious in any other situation, but as it was, it made John's blood ran cold. Certainly, it couldn't mean anything positive that Sherlock hadn't already picked up on John's feelings, before today. John had almost convinced himself that Sherlock knew how he felt and just didn't know how to bring it up - wishful thinking, obviously - but it was unexpected that John's confession had caught his friend completely off guard. It also meant that Sherlock hadn't thought of John in this way and... No, he shouldn't get ahead of himself. Theorizing without enough data was always a bad idea, as Sherlock would tell him._

 _"I love you and I mean it in a romantic way," John clarified, after Sherlock had regained his breath and was staring at him with wide eyes. "Romantic way? Does that mean that you want to have sex with me?"_

 _John frowned. "Not only that. It means that I want to become your... partner. Not only work related, but in every other part of your life as well and yes," he added, before Sherlock could interrupt him. "I would like to have sex with you, but if that's something you don't... I mean, I know what asexuality is and I would never... I would be content with whatever you enjoy and... I would never expect anything from you that you can't give, so..."_

 _"I'm not asexual." Sherlock's strained voice interrupted John's pathetic speech. "I'm gay and I'm not a virgin either, if that was your next question."_

 _"Okay, that's... good." John glanced at Sherlock's tense form, who was glaring down at the rest of his steak as if it had personally offended him. "Sherlock," he started, unsure of how to act, considering Sherlock's behavior and the new information. "If you don't return my feelings, that's..."_

 _"Don't say_ fine _!" Blue eyes pierced John's, before they were lowered to the half eaten meal once more. "I'm not as emotionally incapable as not to understand how it would affect you if your feelings weren't returned, especially since you are not prone to declaring your love without meaning it."_

 _John managed to nod and shake his head at the same time as he tried to make sense of Sherlock's words. "But you just asked me to clarify if feelings in a_ romantic way _mean that I want to have sex with you."_

 _"Yes, because I have learned that most of the time, the words you used are just a polite way of inquiring if someone wants to have sex with you. I'm sorry if I offended you with the question." Sherlock still didn't meet John's eyes and he also didn't give any hint if he returned his feelings or not. He had merely given a lengthy speech to explain his own thought process, which didn't appear relevant to the most important question at hand. "Do you want to be in a relationship with me?"_

 _A sigh escaped past Sherlock's lips and John almost feared that Sherlock's ignorance of the actual problem had been his way of letting John down gently, until he shrugged. "I don't know."_

 _"Why don't you know? I mean, certainly you can tell me if you return my feelings or..."_

 _"No!" Sherlock shook his head, but clarified, before John could flee from the table to lick his wounds in the privacy of his own room. "It's not that simple, I mean. Even if I return your feelings, it's... I can't make this decision so easily. It's just not... Argh!" Pale hands clenched at unruly curls and John was almost relieved that the situation was so hard on Sherlock. At least, it meant that it wasn't easy to brush John's offer of a relationship away so easily._

 _"If you are worried that it will destroy our friendship, please don't. I know that I can't guarantee anything, but I'm sure..."_

 _"No, you can't be sure of anything. I can't be sure of anything!" Sherlock tore at his hair in aggravation. "That's exactly the point, it's not as easy as that and... Please, John!" Blue eyes met his and John gasped at the vulnerability in the deep seas. "Don't force me to make a decision, right away. I have to think, please!"_

 _John gulped and nodded. There wasn't anything else, he could do. Not, when Sherlock was looking at him with so much desperation as if the whole world rested on his shoulders. "It's not... I mean, I can hope?" The question sounded pathetic, even to John's ears, but Sherlock only gave him a tight smile and nodded. "Yes, but I can't... I can't promise you anything."_

 _John nodded once more and they resumed their meal in silence, although it didn't taste as good as before the whole disaster anymore. At least to John, it didn't, as he couldn't help himself but wonder why it was so hard for Sherlock to decide if he wanted to be in a romantic relationship with him or not._

John still didn't know what he should think about that incident. Especially, as Sherlock hadn't mentioned it again in any way. Life at 221B had just gone on as usual - which meant, explosions, body parts and violin music at three in the morning - for the past week . If it hadn't been for the cautious glances Sherlock had sent his way, John would have believed that he had imagined the whole exchange. As it was, the only comfort John got was from the fact that Sherlock appeared to twist his mind over the issue, if his agitated pacing and his restless sighs - when he believed John to be out of earshot - were anything to go by. Still, John didn't understand why it was so hard for Sherlock to make a decision. Certainly, if he wasn't interested in John at all, he would have told him so straight away. After all, Sherlock wasn't one to spare someone's feelings and he believed that it was kinder to reject someone out of hand, instead of torturing them with hope. This time, it would have even been kinder for Sherlock to reject John, but he hadn't done so. Instead, Sherlock appeared completely torn and John didn't know why. If he did, at least he could try to tip the scales in his favor, but as it was, John was left to wait for Sherlock's decision and he hated waiting.

"I'm going outside." Sherlock's voice startled John out of his thoughts and he watched his friend gracefully getting up from his chair. There was a split second, when their eyes met and an unnamed feeling flickered through the depths of the piercing, blue eyes, before it was gone a second later. John wondered if it meant that Sherlock had finally come to a decision and if he should follow him outside, when Mycroft got up from his chair as well. "I'll make sure that he doesn't smoke a whole pack of cigarettes," he announced to his parents and Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow at him, but didn't make a snide comment about the benefits of cigarettes versus cakes.

John blinked stupidly after the Holmes' brothers as they wandered into the garden and out of view. Either they were making an effort for their parents or they had to discuss some serious matters. Maybe a case of international importance had come up and Mycroft wanted his brother to do the legwork for him. It wouldn't be the first time and John couldn't imagine what else the brothers could talk about, without getting into a fight.

"Ah, these boys," Violet sighed and frowned at the plates of uneaten food. "They could never sit still. Sherlock always had an experiment or some exploring to do and Mycroft sneaked more often to the attic to read in peace than was considered healthy for a boy his age."

John frowned at the last sentence. "I don't think that there is anything wrong with reading."

"There isn't," Scott agreed, while his wife cleaned away the plates. "But both our families were very conservative and they believed that a boy should be wild and play outside, while a girl had to stay inside and help her mother with the chores - reading was also acceptable for a girl."

John couldn't wrap his head around this logic. His parents had had a few beliefs about how girls and boys should act as well, but they had given up on most of them, after they had realised that Harry was wilder than her brother. They certainly hadn't held onto some stupid ideals after their own children had proven to them that they didn't apply. Somehow, John was glad that he didn't have to meet the extended Holmes' family if they were as narrow-minded as Sherlock's father implied.

"At least, they must have been happy with Sherlock, then." If he had been as wild as John imagined he had been, then Sherlock must have been the prime example of a healthy boy after the definition of his relatives.

"No, they were too stupid to accept him as he was," Violet answered darkly and John wondered what she meant by that. Had Sherlock been _too_ wild for his relatives to accept or had he always enjoyed disgusting experiments, which drove most people away? The truth was probably a combination of both options and John wished for the hundredths time that he had met Sherlock as a child. John must have voiced his thoughts aloud - or Violet had planned it all along - as she put a stack of photo albums on the table, in the next second. Five thick albums and as far as John could tell from the labeling, they only contained photos from 1980-1986. The first six years of Sherlock's life.

"He is going to kill me, if he finds out that I have seen photos of him as a child," John muttered as he opened the first album and Sherlock's parents sat down to his left and right. "He will only grumble a little, I know my son. And after all, my Darling has seen pictures of me in diapers as well." Scott sent his wife a besotted look and the moment was so sweet that John just couldn't tell them, that Sherlock and he weren't together. They appeared so happy about the fact that John was in Sherlock's life and it flattered John, although he would have been more happy if their assumption had been correct.

"Ah, that's my baby boy with his Daddy, one day after his birth." John smiled at the picture of a baby that already spotted dark, thick curls and was held in the camera by a proudly smiling man with just as curly hair. It was a lovely picture and John only wondered for a second why Sherlock wore a pink romper suit, before he dismissed that thought. Baby's didn't care what color they wore or with what gender it was associated as long as they were comfortable. Therefore, it shouldn't matter to the adults either.

John was treated to numerous pictures of baby Sherlock and he decided his favorite was of him waving a plush dolphin in the camera and sucking on his soother at the same time. His eyes were already of an ever changing blue and scanning the world around him with interest. Or maybe, the last part was only John's imagination, but he admitted freely that he was utterly besotted with baby Sherlock.

"He was so cute," John murmured in awe and Scott chuckled quietly and then handed John another album, this one reaching from 1982-1984. John chuckled at the first picture of Sherlock riding on Mycroft's back, but then frowned, when he turned the page and looked down at a little girl in a summer dress, carrying a bouquet of red poppies and smiling at whoever had taken the picture.

"Who is that?" Sherlock had never mentioned a sister or a close female relative - besides his mother - and John doubted that Violet had put photos of random children in their family album.

"Oh, Aurelia," Scott smiled down at the picture. "She was beautiful, just like her mother." A cold shudder ran down John's spin at the use of the past tense. The girl appeared to be of the same age as Sherlock at the time, so... a twin sister? A twin sister, who had died as a child and was never mentioned by Sherlock and his brother? A wave of sadness passed through John at the thought and he didn't know how he should ask about her - if he should ask at all - when Violet continued where her husband had left off. "Thanks, Darling, but we both know that she never really existed. Aurelia is just the name of a girl that was never born."

Now, they had lost him. John didn't understand one word of what Violet was talking about and it didn't start to make sense, even when he repeated the words in his head. How was it possible that their daughter had never existed, when there was a picture of her, right in front of John?

"I still think that he is lucky to have your eyes and face, Sweetheart." Scott squeezed Violet's hand over the table, while John was completely confused. HE? Where they still talking about Aurelia and had just confused the pronouns or were they talking about one of their sons?

"But he has your hair, Darling." Violet paged through the Album, until she found the picture she was looking for. The picture of a little girl, with dark, shoulder-length, curly hair, in a red dress and with the most piercing gaze, John had ever seen. Or no, that wasn't right. John narrowed his eyes at the picture of the smiling girl. He knew this piercing stare, very well and it had been directed at him more often than he could count. In fact, John had only found himself the subject of this all-seeing eyes this morning, but...

"I'm just glad Sherlock decided to keep it short. He managed to burn most of his hair, just after this picture was taken," she told John, without noticing his surprised look. "It's saver with short hair in his profession and it's also much curlier, don't you agree, dear?"

John opened his mouth to reply, but no words were coming forward. His mind was still reeling with all the information, that had been thrown at it and he didn't know how to react. It was all too much and Sherlock... Sherlock was...

"Aurelia is... was... Sherlock was born as Aurelia?" The question felt heavy on his tongue, but John needed to be sure about it. It would be too dangerous to theorize without a clear picture in his mind, although many pieces of the puzzle that was Sherlock Holmes started to shift into the right places, with that new possibility in mind. Though, he didn't have the time to analyze it farther, as the startled gasp from Violet heralded the start of another conversation. "You... but you have to know that!"

John shook his head and turned towards Sherlock's mother, who had paled considerably. "Sherlock hasn't told you, but you... I thought you are together. He talks so fondly of you and..." She clasped a hand over her mouth and John felt terrible for her. He should have told her that he wasn't Sherlock's boyfriend, instead of playing along with it, so that he could imagine himself in this role for a - at least - a little while.

"We aren't together and... Listen," John got up from his chair and glanced down at Scott, who was padding his wife's arm reassuringly. "It's... all fine, but I have to... I have to talk with Sherlock." He didn't wait for a reply - or for them to hold him back - as he hurried from the living-room and found his way to the garden. It was easy to spot Mycroft and Sherlock near a small pond and John didn't worry about interrupting a conversation of national importance as he marched over to where they stood. He had questions and Sherlock had the answers to them.


	2. Turbulences

**Author Notes** : Sorry for making you wait so long for this chapter, but university kept me busy. Thankfully, I will finally be able to take a break, after next Monday.^^

Thank you all for your support and encouragement and I'm sorry that I didn't manage to reply to all your lovely comments individually. I just wanted you to know how happy they all made me. =D

There will be another chapter after this one and hopefully, it won't take me too long to update this time. And now: Enjoy! =)

 **Turbulences**

"I don't know what to do, Mycroft." Sherlock glared at the golden leaves of the trees as he followed the small path to the pond behind the house. It irked him that he felt the need to ask his brother for advice - Mycroft would be horrible smug for _years_ \- but he was completely out of his depth. John's declaration of love had left him spinning through open space - was that physically possible? - and he was at a loss of how to act. Under different circumstances - if Sherlock was what John thought him to be - it would have been an easy decision to make. John loved him and Sherlock loved him and they could have ended the day with snogging and/or sex on the couch - or any other suitable piece of furniture in the flat.

Sherlock took a shaking breath and pushed that thought away with an impatient gesture. The circumstances weren't different. He was who he was and there was no way to change that. He had already changed - or rather adapted - everything necessary, in order to become the man, he was now. And Sherlock was content with who he was - had been content for almost a decade by now - but he didn't know if John would feel the same way. His friend had assured him that he would even want to enter a romantic relationship with him, if Sherlock wasn't interested in sex at all. Which was... nice, but not the point, since this wasn't a question of sexuality, but of gender identity. Or maybe, it was a question of sexuality, but not for Sherlock, but for John. Who was there to guarantee him that John would still love him, after he had learned that Sherlock was transgender? He might not end their friendship over it - God, Sherlock hoped not - but that wasn't to say that John would keep on looking at Sherlock the same way. As far as Sherlock knew, John had never dated a transgender person and he wasn't sure if that was by choice or by chance. Would John still be open to the idea of a relationship with Sherlock or would he turn away from Sherlock in disgust? Would their friendship survive, but not their love and Sherlock would have to watch John with someone else in the near future, just because of a stupid mistake of mother nature?

"You should tell him." Sherlock's head snapped up to look at his brother, who appeared to admire the wide field behind the house, but was actually watching Sherlock from the corner of his eyes. "It will make everything much easier once John knows."

Sherlock snorted at that and didn't even bother to ask Mycroft how he knew about the topic of their conversation, as Sherlock hadn't mentioned anything prior to his admission that he was at his wits end. He might have deduced it from the CCTV footage of John and Sherlock during the last week or their behavior this afternoon might have given it away. Sherlock didn't care about Mycroft's tricks, he only cared about his next steps in regards to John.

"It's easy for you to say that, but you don't know how it is." And Mycroft didn't, his brother understood Sherlock like no one else did, but he couldn't relate to the feeling of looking in the mirror and seeing an unfitting version of his body. A version that was miles away from the picture Sherlock had of himself, that it hurt just to look at it. Thankfully, he hadn't felt like this in years, but he would never forget the anger and helplessness he had felt during his puberty. It was engraved in his brain and Mycroft couldn't...

"Don't forget that I was the one, who collected you from the flat you shared with Victor Trevor, after you had figured out that he only wanted to be together with you, because it allowed him to pretend that he wasn't gay. Utterly nonsense of course, seeing that you are a man, but I still remember you considering phalloplasty as a possibility afterwards, although you had never been interested in that kind of surgery before. I watched you destroying your body with cocaine for two years, after Trevor had fueled your body dysphoria. So don't tell me that I'm completely ignorant of the topic, brother mine." Sherlock almost flinched at the glare Mycroft directed at him. "I have watched you suffer for years Sherlock and I only want you to be happy. And yes, I think that it will make you happy in the long run, if you take John in your confidence."

Sherlock sighed and stared at the quiet pond. It was getting cold, the fish were less active than usual. Just like he was less active than he should be. One week to make a simple decision and still not coming to a conclusion at all, was pathetic. It wasn't the same as taking two years - and lots of cocaine - to decide that he didn't want any kind of bottom surgery and that all the Victor Trevors of this world could just go to hell. No, it wasn't even possible to compare the two situations to each other, as they only had Sherlock's gender identity in common. Hell, it wasn't even possible to compare the situation with John to any other time, Sherlock had come out to a potential lover. After all, most of his lovers had been brief affairs and Sherlock hadn't cared much if they surprised him positively - like Sebastian, who hadn't bated an eyelid before taking him to bed, never to speak of it again - or if they turned him down. And Sherlock could have lived with both outcomes, if John wasn't... if he wasn't his best friend and Sherlock wasn't in love with him. Sherlock didn't know if he could survive a rejection from John, based merely on the fact that Sherlock was transgender.

"He will grow to resent you," Mycroft's dispassionate voice interrupted his thoughts and Sherlock wondered why he had believed it a good idea to talk with his annoying brother. "John loves you and he will get tired of waiting for an answer from you. Either you reject him and hope that your friendship survives it, without a chance of ever experiencing a deeper connection to Doctor Watson or you tell him. The chances that your friendship will survive this course of action are much higher - about 91% - and there would even be hope for a development of your relationship."

"And yet, it's very likely that he won't be sexually interested in me anymore, because my genitalia doesn't match my gender."

"But you don't know that and maybe John will surprise you, but you can find that out yourself, as he is just coming our way." Sherlock spun around and froze on the spot as he watched John hurrying in their direction with a determined expression on his face.

"I'll leave you to it then. Good luck, brother mine!" For a split second, Sherlock was about to grab Mycroft's umbrella to keep his brother from leaving, before he thought better of it. He wasn't a small child anymore and he didn't need Mycroft's help, when it came to John. His advice, yes, but Mycroft's meddling wouldn't solve the situation with John and it had to be solved, one way or another.

Sherlock straightened his back, when John came to stand in front of him and looked up at him with a strange expression on his face. An expression, Sherlock couldn't read, but he suspected that John was here to demand he make a decision and Sherlock was ready to head Mycroft's advice. Only... John managed to surprise him once again... or rather, shock him. "So, your birth name was Aurelia?"

The question sounded innocent enough, but it knocked the breath out of Sherlock and he gasped for air. "How...?" No need to deny the truth, when it was obvious that John was aware of this part of his past, although Sherlock couldn't fathom where his friend had gotten that information from.

"Your parents showed their photo albums to me and well..." John shrugged and averted his gaze. "I just wanted to know if it's true." He was still speaking to the dried leaves at his feet and Sherlock hated that his friend wouldn't meet his eyes. It made it harder to deduce John's feelings and it also left him wondering why John wouldn't look at him. Was he embarrassed that he had learned of his secret, without Sherlock's permission - he would have a word with his parents later - or was he so disgusted by him that... No, stop! No theorizing without the necessary data, that was his rule and he would stick to it.

"If you are inquiring if I'm transgender, then yes, it's true." John's eyes snapped up to his and Sherlock tried to read from his expression how he felt about it, but so many emotions flickered over his face that it was impossible to catch them all. _Surprise_ was certainly one of them, but Sherlock couldn't be sure what else was hidden away in the depths of John's eyes. _Shock_ wasn't out of the question, as it was obviously hard for his friend to find the words to express his feelings as he opened and closed his mouth a few times, before sounds were finally falling from his lips. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Sherlock bristled at the question and the reproachful tone as the hairs on his neck rose. "I'm not obligated to tell everyone I meet that I'm transgender. It's my business and I alone decide if and when I tell someone about it."

"But I'm your friend and it would have spared us a lot of trouble if you had just..."

"Oh a lot of trouble," Sherlock sneered John's words, although the lump in his throat made it hard to get enough air for speech. "By that you mean that you wouldn't have fallen in love with me if you had known what I was. Or do you mean that you wouldn't have needed to go through a sexuality crisis, because you don't see me as a _real_ man and therefore you could just put me on level with your numerous girlfriends?!"

John flinched at the words and Sherlock's heart sank farther. So, that was how John saw him or would see him from now on. He couldn't wrap his head around Sherlock's transition and although he might made an effort, in order to safe their friendship, it wouldn't be the same anymore. John would pretend that everything was fine - because that was what he always did - but he wouldn't be able to maintain that lie and sooner or later, it would drive them apart. One of them - probably John - would leave Baker Street and Sherlock would have lost his best friend, just because of who he was.

Sherlock clenched his hands at his side. His fingernails dug into his palm. The pain was a relief. It gave him something to focus on. Something besides the pressure on his chest or the burning moisture in his eyes, while he glared at John and waited. Waited for his friend to say something in his defense, to tell Sherlock that it was a misunderstanding, but John merely gaped at him. No denials forthcoming and Sherlock... admitted defeat. "Tell Mummy and Dad that they don't have to wait with dinner." With that he turned around and marched in the direction of the field. He had already climbed above the fence, when John called out to him.

"Sherlock!"

At least, he still used his correct name, Sherlock mused without humor, but he didn't turn around as he increased his pace, until he was running across the harvested field, without a thought as how he had to look like to John... if he was still watching him. He just wanted to get away from everything. From John. From his parents. From his brother. From his own feelings.

Sherlock ran, until every breath felt like a piercing needle to his lungs and he just collapsed against the trunk of a tree at the edge of the forest. His vision blurred, when he glanced across the field and to his parent's house, which was a tiny point in the distance.

"Stupid wind," Sherlock cursed as he wiped the moisture from his cheeks, but gave up the pretense, when new tears welled up in his eyes. Screw it, he had every right to cry, after his best friend had stabbed him in the back, because his parents had forced him to come out to John.

A sob hitched in his throat and Sherlock did nothing to cover up the sound. No one would hear him here. No one would come looking here for him... expect for Mycroft, but even his brother wouldn't make it to the forest in hours. He had always given Sherlock the time to collect himself and Sherlock doubted that Mycroft would change his policy today.

A hollow laugh was torn from his lips, which ended in a strangled cry and Sherlock slung his arms around his legs as he allowed the sorrow and disappointment to be washed away by his tears.

OOO

"Sherlock!"

Fuck, John punched the air in front of him, when his friend didn't turn around but fled - there was no other word for it - across the field. He had screwed up badly, John knew that, even without Mycroft's dark presence drawing closer to him, until the elder Holmes' brother was glaring down at John.

"Care to explain what just happened, Doctor Watson?" If John was less brave, he would have cowered at the icy tone of Mycroft's voice as his grey eyes tore into his. But seeing that he had never backed down from a challenge before, John merely clasped his hands behind his back and returned Mycroft's gaze. "I don't think that it's of any concern for you."

"Oh, but it is, Doctor Watson." Mycroft bared his teeth in a terrifying imitation of a smile. "You see, no matter how much Sherlock and I disagree on certain matters, he still is my little brother and I won't stand by and watch you hurting him."

John's shoulders sagged. For once, Mycroft had the high moral ground in a conversation and John didn't even feel the need to argue with him. He had every right to be angry with John, although...

"I don't mean to hurt Sherlock." It sounded petulant, even to his own ears and it did nothing to melt the ice in Mycroft's eyes. "You just did, Doctor Watson or do you think my brother makes a habit of running away from a confrontation?!"

The question didn't need answering. Sherlock would never ran away from a confrontation. Hell, he loved confrontations, it was one of his hobbies to provoke Sally and Anderson, just to exchange insults with them. No, Sherlock only fled from situations, which were too emotional for his liking or had the potential to hurt him, if not both. And John had pushed him in such a situation, just because he hadn't taken a damned second to think. Instead of allowing the new knowledge to settle and order his feelings, John had rushed to Sherlock and confronted him with the facts and how he had done it!

 _"So, your birth name was Aurelia?"_

Harry would have his head for that, if she ever learned of John's indiscretion. His sister had a lot of transgender friends - and he believed she had even dated a few trans women before Clara - and she had made sure that John knew what questions weren't allowed. Birth names were an absolute no go and what had John done, he had used Sherlock's birth name as an entrance for their conversation. No wonder that Sherlock had been wary of John's motives afterwards and had felt the need to get defensive. Christ, he was such an idiot!

"What did you say to Sherlock that he felt the need to get away from you?" Mycroft arched an eyebrow at John. "Did you imply that he wasn't a _real_ man or did you make your feelings in this regard depend on the state of his genitalia?"

"No," John pressed out, only because he feared that Mycroft would drown him in the pond, if he didn't answer his questions. "I didn't say anything."

"Please, don't try to fool me, Doctor Watson. Smarter men have tried and failed at that. You must have said something to rile up my brother..."

"No, I didn't say anything, at least," John added, when Mycroft's expression darkened. "I didn't insult him. I went about it the wrong way, but Sherlock... he accused me of thinking... things and I didn't know what to say and..."

"My brother took your silence as a confession," Mycroft finished his sentence and sadness flickered in his eyes for a second, before his expression blanked once more. At least, it didn't appear like John was in mortal danger anymore. "Tell me, John, has your view of Sherlock changed in any significant way, since you learned that he is transgender?"

He didn't even have to think about the question, before he shook his head and a tiny smile stretched the corners of Mycroft's lips. "In this case, I'll send him to you, when he comes back, but," Cold eyes glared warningly at John as their owner turned back towards the house. "If you hurt him, I'll make sure that you never existed, Doctor Watson." John merely inclined his head at the threat, but didn't bother with an answer as he followed Mycroft back to the house. If he hurt Sherlock - again - then he didn't see much appeal in existing anymore. John would deserve every terrible punishment, Mycroft deemed appropriate for him, if John wasn't able to make up with his friend. He glanced back over the wide fields and sent a prayer heavenwards that Sherlock would be back soon, so that John could apologize for his thoughtless words.

OOO

John sighed as he closed the door of the bedroom behind himself. Dinner had been an awkward affair. Mycroft had been polite, but cold - colder than usual - and it hadn't only been directed at John, but at his parents as well. No matter, that Violet and Scott had assumed that John already knew that Sherlock was transgender, their oldest son obviously held it against them that they had spilled his brother's secret. Understandable, as John had been furious with his father as well, after he had told his _mates_ that Harry was a lesbian and they had made all kind of rude comments, when they had seen her the next time... until Harry had broken the nose of one of them. John grinned at the memory, but he sobered a second later and stared at the carpet. It had complicated, chemical formulas weaved in it and John wondered where you could get such a unique piece of art. Maybe, Violet had made it herself for Sherlock, as she appeared the kind of mother who would do everything in her power to make her children happy.

For a second, John considered sitting down on the bed - King's sized - but then he decided against it and sat down on the carpet instead to lean back against the bedframe. After all, the bed was Sherlock's and John didn't feel like he had any right to use it. Not until, Sherlock had forgiven John for how he had acted today and if that wasn't possible then... John would just sleep on the couch downstairs. Violet had put John in Sherlock's old bedroom, together with her son, because she had assumed that they were a couple and John had declined her offer to arrange the guestroom for him, after she had learned otherwise. John didn't want to admit defeat, before he had even started fighting for Sherlock and if he had to pay a price for his determination, in the form of a sore neck, then so be it. Because John would fight for Sherlock, not only for their friendship - which went without saying - but also for the right to love the mad genius.

John nodded at the skeptical looking teddy - which wore an eye patch and a captain's hat - on the bed, but didn't allow himself to stroke his fur. It was Sherlock's teddy and if John ever earned the right to touch him was written in the stars. John was only certain of one thing, his feelings for Sherlock hadn't changed since he had learned that his friend was transgender.

John had taken the time - while the rest of the house had been wrapped in awkward silence - to analyze his own feelings and the conclusion had been clear. It wasn't up for discussion to end their friendship. Sherlock would always be his friend - even if he decided that John wasn't his anymore - and the fact that Sherlock had been born as Aurelia didn't change anything as far as John was concerned. He was a man, no matter what his birth certificate had to say about it. And that led John to the next question, he had forced himself to answer honestly: Did he still want to have a sexual and romantic relationship with Sherlock? Romanticism would have dictated to him not to ask this question - as political correctness would have - but John didn't want to lie to himself and - by extension - Sherlock. It would only hurt them both in the end, if John came to the conclusion that it wasn't possible for him to be with Sherlock sexually and the last thing John wanted to do, was to hurt Sherlock... again.

Still, it had come as a relief to John, when he had realised that his first impulse about his own feelings had been right, he still wanted to be with Sherlock in every possible way. No matter what kind of surgeries Sherlock had or hadn't undergone, John wanted to make love to him. He wanted to kiss and touch every part of Sherlock's body and learn what made him sigh in delight or moan with passion. He wanted to watch him fall asleep in his arms and kiss him awake in the morning and... in short, John only cared about the details of Sherlock's body in the way, that he wanted to explore and memorize them all.

The teddy didn't look so disapproving anymore, when John glanced his way again and he contemplated petting his head, when steps sounded on the floor. They were too light to be Mycroft's, too energetic to be Scotts and Violet had gone to bed hours ago, therefore... John scrambled to his feet, just when the door was pushed open.

OOO

Sherlock stepped into the room and... stopped. He hadn't expected John in here, which was stupid, considering that his mother had been of the opinion that they were a couple and therefore, she would have put them in a room together. Still, Sherlock would have thought that the misunderstanding was cleared by now. Certainly, his mother would have offered John to sleep in the guestroom and that meant... that John was here to talk.

Sherlock gulped and fought the urge to flee, as he closed the door behind him and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He wouldn't run away from his friend - no matter if John still considered him as such - and if it all ended now, then this was for the better. At least, it would spare Sherlock hours of imaging all kinds of painful conversations with John. They could just get it over with and then... Sherlock's mind shied away from the question what would happen, once John had said his part. He didn't want to imagine a life without his friend, but he also didn't want to see how John's behavior would change around him, now that he knew the truth.

Sherlock sighed and decided to face the bitter reality, once it had arrived. Until then, he could allow himself to hope that not everything would turn out as hopeless as it now appeared to be.

"What do you want?" Sherlock didn't bother to hide his exhaustion as he met John's gaze. Even someone as unobservant as his friend would notice his red rimmed eyes and the dirt that stuck to the front of his trousers, from when he had kneeled on the ground and cried helpless tears into the mud, until only numbness had been left. Sherlock couldn't even say if the cold or his own devastation were to fault that he had only barely managed to drag himself back home. Every step towards his parent's home more exhausting than the last one, until he had finally stumbled over the threshold of their house.

"I want to... apologize." John's gaze flickered over his body and Sherlock noted the exact moment, when John noticed the pathetic state, Sherlock was in, as his eyes narrowed at him. Though, he didn't remark on it, but took a deep breath instead and carried on. "I handled the situation badly, I should have... Actually, I don't know how I should have brought it up, but I know that... it was wrong of me to... use your birth name as a start for the conversation. I shouldn't..."

"Did Mycroft set you up to it?" Sherlock interrupted John's stuttered apology, before his traitorous heart could nurse the seed of hope, his friend's words had planted. "I know that he wants to protect me, but you don't have to... If you don't mean what you say, then it would be better if you didn't say anything at all."

John gaped at him and then sighed. "I guess it's natural that you think that, but... Mycroft has never been able to make me do anything. I'm here, because I want to apologize and besides," The shadow of a smile flickered over John's face. "Do you truly believe that I would still be here, if Mycroft thought I didn't mean what I just said?"

Sherlock cocked his head to the side as he considered this point. He was certain that Mycroft had talked with John - probably threatened him - after Sherlock had left - fled. Still, his brother wouldn't have allowed John near Sherlock, if he had believed that John was truly transphobic. More than one of the men, which had rejected Sherlock, based on the fact that he was transgender, had found themselves thrown out of university or without a job afterwards. No, if John was still here, then there was reason to hope and Sherlock should at least give John the chance to explain himself.

"No, Mycroft would have drowned you in the pond," Sherlock replied to John's earlier question.

"That's what I feared." Mirth sparkled in John's eyes and for a split second, Sherlock forgot what they were talking about as an answering grin tucked at his lips, before the reality of the situation crashed down on him, once more and his expression froze. "If you know that it was wrong, why did you confront me in such a way?"

"Because your mother had just told me - although by accident - that you are transgender. I was surprised and I needed to talk with you about it and... I didn't take the time to think twice about my actions. I'm sorry that I hurt you." John hunched his shoulders and met Sherlock's eyes. "It was also terrible of me to... hold it against you that you didn't tell me, sooner. I had no right to... even imply that."

Sherlock nodded slowly, but otherwise remained silent. His mind was busy with checking and comparing John's body language and intonation to past situations. It didn't appear like John was lying - he was a terrible liar - and Sherlock's heart stuttered in tentative hope. If John was remorseful for his behavior, then it was possible that not everything was lost between them. Maybe, their friendship was still salvageable.

"You don't mind, then?" Sherlock gestured to himself and flinched inwardly at how desperate his voice sounded. It was never a good idea to give his own weaknesses away. Sherlock had learned that the hard way, starting with the children at school and continuing until this very day. But John didn't attack Sherlock, instead he sent him a tired, but honest smile. "Of course, I don't mind. God, Sherlock, I... I can't apologize often enough that I made you feel like I did, but it's really no problem. You're still you. Brilliant, mad and - sometimes - an utterly git and I... I hope we can still be friends."

Friends!

The word brought relief and disappointment, in equal parts, to Sherlock. Relief, because the day's events hadn't destroyed what had always been theirs and John obviously valued their friendship very highly. And Disappointment, because... Well, some part of Sherlock had started to hope - after his friend's apology - that they could be _more._ That there was still a chance for John and him to act on their mutual feelings and become... boyfriends. Obviously though, there wasn't and Sherlock would have to accept it. No matter how bitter it made him feel and how much he would loathe every future lover of John, Sherlock would come to live with John's decision and maybe - given some time - he would even get over his love for John.

"Friends... that's fine." Sherlock pressed out and lowered his eyes to the floor as not to give his real feelings away to John. It would take some time to hide his feelings from his friend and pretend that everything was fine between them. And it was... it was! John had apologized to him. He didn't behave differently towards him - as far as Sherlock could judge - and they were still friends. Therefore, the outcome was much better than he had expected, when he had come home. Why then did he feel like an iron clad was closing around his chest and suffocating him slowly? It wasn't the first time that someone had turned him down, because he was transgender. It wasn't even the first time that Sherlock had really liked that person. It just was... the first time that someone had confessed their love to him beforehand. Sherlock inhaled slowly and ignored the burning feeling in his chest, as he tried to get himself back under control. He wouldn't gain anything from becoming emotional now. If anything, it would only make John uncomfortable and Sherlock didn't want him to reconsider their status as friends. As much as it would hurt to see John every day in their flat, it was better than the alternative. Better than losing John for good.

Sherlock gritted his teeth to stop the humiliating moisture in his eyes from betraying his true feelings and turned to the door. He couldn't stand in the same room with John any longer. Not now. Not tonight. There were too many feelings - too many destroyed hopes - in the air and Sherlock just needed to go out, to go away and...

"Where are you going?"

Sherlock startled, when a hand closed around his wrist, as he reached for the handle of the door, but he didn't dare to turn his head to meet John's gaze. "I need fresh air."

John snorted and tightened his grip. "You were out there for hours. It's freezing, you can't...Oh!" The breath hitched in John's throat and Sherlock tensed as he feared that his friend had figured out the real reason why he wanted - had to - leave. "You don't need to go, if you are uncomfortable with... If you don't want to share a room tonight, I'll sleep in the living-room. It's... that's your bedroom after all."

Sherlock glanced behind John at his bed and shook his head. "No, it's fine. I'm not even tired and I just need to..."

"You are still upset." John sounded resigned as he stated that simple fact and Sherlock didn't have the strength to deny it. He turned in John's grip and slumped against the closed door, his gaze cast at the floor. "It's fine," he tried half-heartedly, which was met with a bitter laugh. "No, Sherlock, it's not fine. You are clearly upset and it's my fault and... I can't stand seeing you like that." John let go of his wrist, in favor of gripping both of his upper arms and frowning up in Sherlock's face. "I don't know what it is - what else I have done wrong - but please, tell me."

"You haven't done anything wrong."

"Bullshit!" John's hands tightened on his arms and Sherlock wondered if he would find bruises in the morning. The only marks, John would ever leave on him, if he was correct. "Tell me, what's wrong! It will only lead to another misunderstanding, if we don't talk about it!" John was insistent and for a second, Sherlock entertained the thought of a snarky remark to rile his friend up and get away from him, as long as he was still distracted. In the end though, Sherlock decided against it. John was right, they would only get in another fight, if Sherlock didn't disclose how he felt for John and that he wished for more than friendship between them. After all, Sherlock was only also human - not matter how much he loathed it at times - and he sincerely doubted that he could hide his feelings from his friend for long, after everything that had transpired between them, in the last week. At least, this way, John wouldn't be surprised if Sherlock kept staring at him for longer than was considered _normal_ for friends... if he was still willing to stay with Sherlock after his confession.

"I... you said that we are still... friends." Sherlock saw the tiny nod from the corner of his eyes and continued. "And you... told me that you... loved me, last week." A surprised gasp, but otherwise John didn't react. "I just wanted you to... know that I... return your feelings, although you probably don't want to... although a relationship with me doesn't hold... any appeal for you anymore. I just wanted you to... know that..."

"You stupid wanker!" The air was pressed from his lungs, when arms closed around him and Sherlock was sandwiched between John and the wall.

"John?" He started tentatively, only to be hugged even tighter. "As if I don't love you anymore, you git. As if I could!" Tearful eyes blinked up at Sherlock and he couldn't decide if John's words or the moisture in his eyes were stranger, even while his heart pounded madly against his ribcage and his mind tried to make sense of the turn of events.

"You still... love me?" Sherlock had never felt so stupid in his life as when he stumbled over these simple words. At least, they should be simple. Humans everywhere, everyday, confessed their love to each other. They were just words, but no matter how much he tried to play their meaning down, Sherlock couldn't keep his heart from fluttering hopefully in his chest.

"Of course, I do." John had the rare ability to smile, while tears were running down his face and to still look happy. Sherlock nodded and barely managed to stop himself from wiping the moisture from John's cheeks. Not yet, he didn't have this right just yet. One more question and then, it would be decided, if he would ever be allowed to touch John in more than a friendly manner.

"And do you... Would you still like to... Is a romantic relationship still..." Sherlock closed his mouth in horror, when he wasn't able to formulate a simple sentence, but he didn't get the chance to bolt from the room in mortification as John finished what he had begun. "If I still want to be in a romantic relationship with you?" Sherlock nodded and John's eyes softened. "Yes, that's exactly what I want. Do you?" Sherlock nodded once more, unable to form any words as John gazed at him with gentle eyes. And then, John closed the gap between their lips and speech wasn't necessary anymore.


	3. High Waves and Calm Water

**Author Notes** : Finally, the last chapter of this story. :) Smut and feelings ahead, so enjoy it and let me know how you liked it. =)

 **High Waves and Calm Water**

"You should go and take a shower," John suggested and stroked Sherlock's left cheek tenderly. His face was newly flushed with warmth - a side effect of their kiss - but the rest of Sherlock felt icy. John could feel the cold sipping through the thin cotton of Sherlock's shirt, where he was pressed against his friend. Guilt flashed through John, when it hit him that Sherlock was only trembling in his arms, because of John's stupidity. No matter, how often he apologized and how often Sherlock forgave him, the fact remained that his friend - and boyfriend - had spent the better part of four hours outside, because John had acted like an idiot.

"Stop it," Sherlock murmured against his ear and John glanced up at him. "You agonize, because you believe it's your fault that I spent so much time outside and that I'm in danger of catching a cold."

"Or pneumonia," John muttered darkly. He didn't ask how Sherlock knew what he had been thinking, it had probably been written all over John's face and Sherlock was fantastic at reading him. The only exception was, when Sherlock was emotionally involved as well and misinterpreted John's actions - like today. John should have known that. He should have acted differently and...

"Really, John, it's annoying." A sigh ruffled John's short hair, when Sherlock pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I'm a grown man and it was my decision to stay outside without my coat or scarf. I could have gone inside or driven away with the car. If I catch something, I'm responsible for it... but I won't mind if you nurse me back to health." There was a twinkle in the blue depths and John couldn't help the smile that pulled his lips upwards as he met Sherlock's gaze, although he still wasn't convinced that he wasn't to blame if Sherlock got sick. Nevertheless, he would let the matter rest. If Sherlock really got ill, his whines and demands would be punishment enough for John.

"You should still take a warm shower." John underlined his words with a kiss to Sherlock's jaw and his heart jumped at the chaste contact. It wasn't so much the contact of his lips against the skin of Sherlock's face, which was awesome, John mused, when his friend sighed in faked annoyance and gathered his towel and pajamas, but that he was allowed to kiss Sherlock. John had often imagined to kiss his friend and hold him close, but the reality of it was much better than anything John's mind had come up with. For starters, it was real - as idiotic as that might sound - and John didn't have to fear that Sherlock would vanish, when he opened his eyes. And then, it was... Sherlock. His amazing friend, who had forgiven John his stupid actions, although he had believed that John wouldn't want him as more than a friend anymore. The thought sent a spark of pain through his chest and John squeezed his eyes shut, when he recalled how Sherlock had confessed his love to him, although he had been sure that his feelings wouldn't be returned. It hurt. Not that Sherlock had doubted John's feelings - he had deserved that - but that his friend had so easily come to the conclusion that John couldn't be interested in a romantic relationship with him anymore. It spoke volumes about how others had treated Sherlock, after they had learned about his gender identity. John hated each and every one of them, even while he hated himself for having brought these insecurities back to Sherlock. He would have to make it up to his friend by showing him how much he was loved by John, for the rest of his life. Or as long as Sherlock allowed John to stay in his life.

"You are thinking too much."

John jerked in surprise, when Sherlock walked back into the room and threw himself onto the bed with a smirk in John's direction. His skin was flushed from the hot shower and his still damp hair curled more than usual on Sherlock's forehead and John... was helplessly in love with this beautiful creature.

"Says the man, who belittles others for not using the full potential of their brains," John returned with a fond smile as he sat down on the edge of the bed and snatched the towel that was slung over Sherlock's shoulders. "You should really make up your mind if you want us to think or stop doing it all together."

"I want you to think, but not, when it includes beating yourself up about today." Sherlock peered at him over his shoulder and John just sighed in defeat and made to dry the unruly curls with the towel. "I really can't hide anything from you."

"No, you can't," Sherlock grinned and then leaned back into John's touch and purred - there was no other word for it - while John dried his hair carefully. "You are like a big, content cat," John whispered adoringly and combed his fingers through the curls to untangle the mess, Sherlock had made of them. They felt like pure silk and John caught himself running his fingers through them over and over again, even after they were dry and in some sort of order. Stroking Sherlock's hair was one of the fantasies, that had left John staring at his friend - when he was in his typical thinking pose on the couch - and wishing that he was allowed to _touch_. He had yearned to bed Sherlock's head on his thigh and play with his curls, until the mad genius fell asleep on John.

"You enjoy that." Sleepiness slurred Sherlock's vocals and John smiled, as he threw the towel - which was soaked now - to the ground and arranged them in a more comfortable position on the bed.

"What gave me away?" John inquired amused, lying on his back, with Sherlock's head on his chest and plenty access to the soft curls. "You aren't stopping. Don't stop, it's... nice." The last word was almost swallowed by a yawn and John reached for the covers with his free hand and pulled them up to their chests. "I won't stop," John whispered and tasted around on the nightstand, until he was able to switch the Tiffany lamp off. "I'll never stop, if you don't want me to."

It was comfortably dark and quiet in the room. The silence only interrupted by Sherlock's deep breaths and John was certain that his friend had fallen asleep, when he moved against John's side and murmured almost inaudible: "Don't be an idiot."

Only a second passed, before John understood that it was a reply to his former words and a huge smile split his lips. "I won't be, not in this, I promise," John whispered back, but he didn't get a reaction as exhaustion had finally taken its toll and Sherlock was deeply asleep. They hadn't even discussed sharing a bed, it had just happened, John thought with a smile, while his eyes drifted shut as he was lulled to sleep by Sherlock's even breathing and the warmth of his body, snuggled against John's.

OOO

Church bells. Sherlock groaned and buried his face in the crook of John's neck. That was one reason why he hated the country, the church bells were much too loud in the morning, especially on Sundays. While there were a lot of churches in London, the sound of their bells was mostly mixed with the other noises of the city. It allowed Sherlock to ignore their annoying call, but it was different in the country. There weren't enough noises to drown out the deafening sounds of the bells and Sherlock finally gave up on going back to sleep, when the bells of another church joined into the concert.

Sherlock forced his eyes open and grinned, when the first thing he saw was the profile of John's sleeping face. What would his relatives - which had to be on their way to church by now - say, if they saw him like this? The aunts, uncles and cousins, that hadn't accepted him as a boy and told his parents that they should send him to therapy. They had sent Sherlock numerous packets, which contained dresses, skirts and make-up - which had all been donated to charity - until Mummy had told them to _piss off_ and they hadn't heard from any of them, since Sherlock had turned sixteen. He imagined the various shocked faces of his relatives for some time and their remarks, until he grew bored of it and turned his attention to more important matters. In short, Sherlock focused on John. His friend - boyfriend really - was still sleeping, but he was starting to get restless and Sherlock knew from experiences - he had often watched John sleep - that he would wake up soon. It would be their first morning of waking up together and Sherlock looked forward to it, although his heart flattered nervously in his chest at the numerous possibilities of how this could play out. Would there be lazy kisses in bed or would John follow his usual routine and go for a shower right away?

Another possibility came to Sherlock's mind, when John turned on his side in his sleep and Sherlock felt an unmistakable hardness being pressed against his stomach. John was aroused, the finding made warmth pool in Sherlock's belly, although he was aware that it was merely a physical reaction of sleeping close to another human being. It didn't have to mean anything and yet, Sherlock wanted it to mean something. He wanted John to be hard, because of him and he wanted... Sherlock wanted to get John off.

Sherlock swallowed hard and pressed his thighs together as his body started to react to the picture that thought had produced. It had been a long time - almost five years - since Sherlock had indulged in sexual activities with someone else and it wasn't hard to admit to himself that he was as nervous as he was aroused at the prospect of... _making love_ with John. Sherlock was confident in his abilities of giving John a great time, but he was still insecure about his body... No, that was wrong. Sherlock wasn't insecure about his body, he liked how he looked and he knew that he was attractive. Actually, he was nervous about how John would react to his body. His friend had certainly given the impression that he wanted Sherlock in every possible way and that the state of his genitalia didn't matter to him, but John might have fooled himself. Sherlock didn't doubt that John believed what he had said, but it was still possible that he would be put off by the mismatch of Sherlock's gender and his genitalia.

His stomach quivered with nerves and Sherlock contemplated getting out of bed to postpone the inevitable, but then he decided against it. Sooner or later, they would have sex and Sherlock would rather learn how John felt about him now than when he was even more involved in their relationship. Besides, there was something incredibly arousing and naughty about making love in his old room, with his parents and brother in the house. Sherlock chuckled quietly, as he imagined how Mycroft would look if he barged into his room at the wrong moment and it helped him to push his nervousness aside for the time being.

"Morning," John murmured next to him. "You are in a good mood."

Sherlock hummed in reply and kissed John's eyebrows, while his friend blinked himself awake. A lazy smile rested on his lips as he gazed up at Sherlock, until his mind became fully awake - Sherlock noted the exact second - and a look of embarrassment crossed John's face.

"Sorry," he whispered as his cheeks colored slightly. "I will just..." John made a vague gesture to the adjoining door to the bathroom with one hand, but Sherlock would have none of it. Before John could even move his lower body away from him, Sherlock slung an arm around John's waist and trapped him in bed. "I would rather you take care of your problem here or," Sherlock nipped at John's earlobe. "I could take care of it for you."

"Oh God," John groaned and pressed back against Sherlock. "That's... Aren't we moving too fast?" Sherlock marveled at how responsible John could be, even when his whole body had to scream at him to _take_ instead of _talk_.

"We have both waited long enough," Sherlock pointed out to him and sneaked his hand under John's shirt. "There are no cases, my parents won't expect us for breakfast for another couple of hours and what's more," Sherlock stroked alongside John's ribs and up to his left nipple, which earned him a hissed breath. "We both want it."

Doubt and desire flickered over John's features, before they settled on desire and John nodded his consent. "Alright, but not like this." John tore away from Sherlock's searching hand and jumped out of the bed in an instant.

For a terrible long moment, Sherlock feared that he had miscalculated - in spite of all the evidence to the contraire - when John stalked to the window and pulled the curtains open. Early morning sunlight flooded the room and Sherlock blinked in the sudden brightness, while he tried to make sense of John's actions. Had John only agreed to have sex with him, in order to distract Sherlock, so that he could get away from him? But that didn't make sense. John could have just told him that he really wasn't in the mood for a lazy morning shag and...

"Do you need help undressing?" John's teasing voice snapped Sherlock out of his dark musing and his jaw literally dropped, when he noticed John's state of undress. He was naked, bathed in the golden sunlight that drew highlights on his body and made him look like a young Greek God. Only the scarred skin on his left shoulder destroyed the picture... or maybe it added to the impression of a bellicose God - Sherlock hadn't decided yet. His eyes wandered over John's body and he absently noted the pattern of spare hair on his chest and how it was lighter than the curls of pubic hair, amid which John's cock was nested.

The sight of John's erection, thick and proud, made the blood in Sherlock's body rush southwards and he felt an answering throb between his legs. God, it had been ages, since he had been that aroused and they hadn't even done anything yet. The thought of more to come, sent a wave of heat down his spine and Sherlock felt much too hot all of a sudden. His pajamas were too restricting and uncomfortable and everything in Sherlock screamed to take them off, to strip down to his skin. He only hesitated for a second, before he pulled his shirt over his head and kicked his pajama bottoms off and then... he waited.

Sherlock held his breath as he watched John for a reaction to his naked body. There was nothing left to the imagination anymore, as the covers had been thrown aside in Sherlock's haste to disrobe. Everything, from his erect nipples to his throbbing sex was on display for his boyfriend to see and judge.

John didn't move at first. His eyes roamed over his body and Sherlock forced himself to lay still on his side as John's gaze swept over him, although he couldn't help but wonder what John saw. Did he analyze which surgeries Sherlock had undergone or was he appreciating the faint flush on his chest? Whatever it was, at least John's arousal hadn't wavered, Sherlock noted with a glance to John's still erect cock. That was something, wasn't it? Another thirty seconds passed and Sherlock was about to snap at John to make up his mind, when his boyfriend surprised him once more. "It was a good decision."

Sherlock frowned at the cryptic statement, although he inwardly sighed in relief, when John came over to the bed and lay down next to him - facing Sherlock with a loving smile. "It would have been such a waste, if I hadn't been able to see you for our first time together." Ah, the curtains, Sherlock's mind supplied. John had opened them to get a better view of Sherlock. And in return, Sherlock was could see more of John. Quite brilliant, indeed.

"You know," John murmured and stroked Sherlock's hip. "You have been wrong."

"I'm never wrong," Sherlock protested and he only didn't pout at the idiotic accusation, because John made up for the accusation with his skilled mouth and... Oh, Sherlock loved kissing. "Alright, you made a miscalculation, when you deduced that I had a crisis about my sexuality. I didn't."

Sherlock couldn't respond to the statement as he was too busy focusing on the sensation of John's lips on his neck. He hadn't known that his throat was an erogenous zone, until John tucked his skin between his lips and sucked and the throbbing between his legs intensified.

"You aren't the first man, I'm with," John admitted as he pushed Sherlock on his back and rolled on top of him. "I wasn't worried about that part."

"Then what were you... worried about?" Sherlock's question ended in a gasp, when John licked his left nipple and it hardened under the ministrations. He had never been so happy that his chest was still sensitive to touch than while John was teasing him out of his mind.

"I was worried, because it was you, I had fallen in love with." John pinched his right nipple between his middle and index finger and Sherlock gasped at the onslaught of pleasure mixed with pain. "You, a self-proclaimed sociopath, who scoffed at the notion of sentiments and wasn't interested in relationships. I feared for my heart and sanity."

"What did change your mind?" Sherlock wasn't really interested in an answer. He just liked to listen to John's voice, still hoarse from sleep and laced with lust. Sherlock believed that one day, he could just come from listening to John talking about his day at work.

"You did." John captured Sherlock's mouth in a passionate kiss. Sherlock slung his arms around John's back and threw his right leg over John's hip to drew them closer together. Their teeth clicked as they grinded together and Sherlock growled deep in his throat as moisture leaked from between his legs. "You are dazzling brilliant, beautiful and an utter wanker and I just... I decided that it was worth the risk of a broken heart and my sanity, if I got the chance to be with you."

A happy laugh escaped Sherlock at that and he leaned up to cover John's lips with kisses to claim the words for himself. No one had ever confessed their love in a more beautiful manner to Sherlock. Not that many people had tried, but still...

"Is there anything you are averse to?" John traced a finger from Sherlock's navel to his pubic hair and wrapped a curl around his finger. "And before you get it wrong, I ask that of all my partners. I'm willing to experiment, but I don't like to make my lovers uncomfortable in bed, so I always ask beforehand."

Sherlock wasn't sure if John was making this up for his sake or if he was telling the truth. Both was possible, because John was a considerate lover and a wonderful and kind man and Sherlock didn't really care one way or the other. He only wanted more of John's touches. Now, that he was sure of John's affection and attraction - to all parts of him - Sherlock didn't want to waste time thinking, he wanted to feel. To feel John and preferably his tongue between Sherlock's legs.

"Don't feminize my genitals, if you talk about them and... I'm not found of vaginal penetration. At all." Sherlock emphasized the last words, as he had made the experience that some men didn't take him serious on that matter, although he doubted that he had anything to fear in this regard from John.

"So," John sat up on his heels and stroked a finger between Sherlock's legs, until he found the bundle of nerves there and teased it lightly. "That's your cock." It was more a statement than a question, but Sherlock moaned in confirmation nonetheless. "A blowjob is fine, but no penetration... at all or is it fine, here?" John moved his finger between his cheeks and a raspy breath fell from Sherlock's lips, when the finger stroked over his anus. "I take that as a yes, then." John winked at him and then leaned over him to retrieve a bottle of Vaseline from the nightstand - courtesy of Mummy, Sherlock deduced. "Not as good as lube, but sufficient for today."

A shiver of anticipation ran down Sherlock's spine at the promising words. He could deduce what John had planned for him, but that didn't decrease his arousal at all. In fact, it was almost quite the opposite, as Sherlock's mind created analyses after analyses of where and how John would touch him and how it would affect Sherlock. His own imagination was so powerful that he couldn't hold back a loud moan, when John parted his pubic hair and _breathed_ on his small cock.

A low chuckle sounded from between Sherlock's legs. "We should probably buy Mrs. Hudson earplugs. I'm just glad that your parents sleep in a different part of the house." Something stirred in Sherlock's mind at that. His parents' room was far enough away from his to prevent them from hearing anything, that was right, but...

"Oh my... John!" All the thoughts flew from Sherlock's mind, when a skilled and wet - so perfectly wet - tongue teased the head of his cock. Raw nerve endings fired signals of pure lust through his whole body and Sherlock had to hold onto the sheets to stop himself from grabbing John's hair, in an attempt to make him go faster and harder and... Oh, that was perfect. Sherlock threw his head back and groaned, when John's lips closed around his throbbing cock and sucked on it. It was heaven and hell at once, salvation and torture. Sherlock never wanted it to stop and wanted it to end at the same time and...

"Fuck! Ah...John... Yes, please!" Sherlock didn't knew what he was begging for, but John understood him. John always understood him, even when Sherlock didn't understand himself. Therefore, Sherlock wasn't surprised when a slick finger circled his anus and then pushed into him at once.

"Yesss," he hissed and pushed back against John's finger. "You're incredible... Oh Christ!" A wave of pleasure surged through his body and Sherlock couldn't hold back the scream that was torn from his throat. Stimulation of the perineal sponge spot, his mind supplied helpfully, when John crooked his finger inside him once more and Sherlock teetered at the edge of climax. It was almost too much. His legs shook, when Sherlock spread them even wider to give John better access. Sweat was trickling down his chest. His breath escaped him in irregular pants and screams. His cock throbbed against John's tongue. His nerve endings were firing signals of pure pleasure nonstop. Arousal was pooling in his belly and...

"Come for me, Sherlock!"

The order was a mere whisper in the room, but it was enough to push Sherlock over the edge, when John's tongue found its target once more and the pleasure reached its peak. White exploded in Sherlock's vision and his whole body shook with the power of his orgasm as he rode on waves of pure pleasure. Sherlock couldn't say how long his orgasm lasted, but when he sank back onto the pillow with a groan, he felt like he had spent hours chasing through London after a serial killer. In short, he was satisfied, exhausted and in love with life... and John.

"You were incredible," his boyfriend whispered in Sherlock's ear as he lay down next to him. "So beautiful. I almost came alone from watching you." Heat rose in Sherlock's cheeks at the compliment and he sealed John's lips with his, before his boyfriend could remark on the mortifying blush.

They shared lazy kisses for what felt like hours and Sherlock wouldn't have minded if they spent the rest of the day like this - his parents would let him stay until tomorrow - until John' still hard cock nudged his hip and Sherlock drew back. In his post-coital haze, he had almost forgotten that John hadn't come yet.

"Sorry, I haven't," Sherlock started, unsure how to apologize for such an oversight, but John kissed the apology from his lips and shook his head with a smile. "It's fine, no harm done and I really like how cuddly you get after you have come. Another reason to do it more often." Sherlock felt his whole face and chest flush at that, but he ignored it, in favor of stroking down between John's legs and rubbing the tip of his finger over the head of his cock. "What would you like me to do?" Sherlock asked over John's needy moan. He already had an idea what John would like, but he wasn't sure if that was on his boyfriend's mind or if he would prefer something else.

"Deduce it." John breathed the challenge against his flushed cheek and Sherlock smirked. "Let's see," he started and gave John's cock an experimental stroke. "You enjoy all kinds of sex, although oral stimulation is a favorite of yours." Sherlock inched lower until his eyes were on level with John's navel and licked the head of his cock. John groaned and his hips bucked desperately. Sherlock chuckled and licked a line from John's balls to his perineum, before withdrawing once more. "It's definitely your favorite, but not how you would like to come now, although you wouldn't complain if I got you off with my mouth."

"Certainly not," John gasped in affirmation.

"Mhm, what else do we have?" Sherlock ignored John's input, although he couldn't help but note how hot his boyfriend was like this. His upper body was flushed with passion. His lips were red and swollen from pleasuring Sherlock earlier. His short hair stuck up in all directions and the flushed head of his cock leaked freely, when Sherlock teased it with his fingertip. Warmth curled anew in his belly, but Sherlock ignored it for now as he focused his whole attention on John. "You aren't averse to anal penetration, in fact," Sherlock rubbed John's anus with his slick finger. "You would love me to fuck you now."

"Oh God, yes." John all put panted and Sherlock felt remorse that he wasn't able to fulfill John's wish. At least not here. He had the necessary equipment at Bakerstreet - including real lube - and he would make sure that John got what he had asked for, when they had gotten back home.

"Next time," Sherlock promised and John moaned in agreement. "Next time, I'll open you up with my fingers, until you beg me for more and then I'll fuck you, until you don't know your own name anymore. Just my name. I want you to come with my name on your lips, when I fuck you."

"God, Sherlock... please!" John's cock twitched between them and Sherlock filled the knowledge that his boyfriend was turned on by dirty talk away for later. For now though, Sherlock tasted for the tube of Vaseline and slicked his fingers, when he found it.

"Sherlock?" Confused eyes blinked down at him, when Sherlock turned on his side with his back to John. "You wouldn't only like to be taken, you would also enjoy fucking me. Sadly," Sherlock spread the Vaseline on the inside of his thighs. "We don't have a sufficient lube for anal sex, but I'm sure you'll enjoy this just as much." Sherlock crossed his ankles and pressed his legs together, until only a small hole was left between his thighs. For a second, there was silence and Sherlock feared that he had made a miscalculation, before a gasp of recognition sounded behind him and John all but scrambled into position. It took them a few tries, until John's cock was comfortably seated between Sherlock's thighs and he had enough space to thrust, but then, it was amazing.

Sherlock panted in time with his thrusts as John chased his orgasm and drove Sherlock closer to his second one, at the same time. The sounds of flesh hitting flesh. The feeling of John's cock between his thighs. The pants in his ear. The warmth of John against his back. The... Oh God, John's finger between his legs. Rubbing and stroking and...

Sherlock barely managed to keep his thighs pressed together as his second orgasm hit him by surprise. He didn't know if he was screaming or if it was John's voice that echoed through the room, while his body shook in almost painful pleasure. A part of Sherlock's mind only registered how John tensed behind him and then a sudden splash of warm slickness between his thighs.

"Sher...Sherlock!"

They held each other through their peaks of lust, until their limbs stopped shaking and their breathing calmed down to something resembling normal. And even then, they only rearranged their positions, so that John was lying on his back with Sherlock sprawled over his left side. They didn't talk. They didn't move. They just breathed in the cocoon of love they had created.

The bells of the nearby church announced the eleventh hour and John's sigh ruffled Sherlock's hair.

"We should get up," he suggested and nudged Sherlock's shoulder with his nose.

"Why?" Sherlock was much too content to get up. John's scent and warmth were all around him and Sherlock wouldn't mind spending the rest of the day in bed like this. Maybe, they could get in another round of sex in an hour or just share some more kisses or...

"We are in your parents' home. They will expect us downstairs at some point and we still have to tell them that everything worked out between us." Sherlock rolled his eyes at that and grabbed John around the waist as he made to get up. "It won't hurt them if we stay here for another hour."

"Yes, it might," John detangled himself from Sherlock and sat up on the edge of the bed. "Besides, I don't want to get drowned in the pond, if Mycroft doesn't get proof of how happy we are together."

"Oh, if it's just that." Sherlock scrambled to his knees and hugged John close from behind. "You don't need to worry about him. He knows that we are happily together."

A skeptical eyebrow rose at that as John glanced over his shoulder at Sherlock. "How could Mycroft know about that? He doesn't have cameras installed in your room, has he?" Sherlock laughed at the panicked tone of John's voice. "No, even Mycroft wouldn't do that, but," Sherlock nipped at John's earlobe, which sent a shudder through the body of his boyfriend. "Mycroft has the room next door and he doesn't get up before ten o'clock, when he is to visit our parents."

John grew completely still, his back tensed and Sherlock feared that it had been a mistake to tell him about the location of Mycroft's room, when John erupted in giggles. "You... You, mad git! Mycroft... God, I will never be able to look at him again."

"Probably not, but it will convince Mycroft to uninstall every hidden camera in our flat, which I haven't found yet." John stared at him in disbelief and then Sherlock winked cheekily and they clutched at each other as they tumbled from the bed in a fit of laughter. At one point, they would have to shower and get dressed, but Sherlock didn't think about that, when he wrestled John on his back and started to tickle him. He didn't think about lunch with his parents or the car drive back home. In fact, he didn't think at all. Sherlock just enjoyed this utterly perfect and hilarious moment with John, which was made even easier, when he realised that it was just the first of many more happy moments to come. The first of plenty perfect moments with John.


End file.
